FABLES OF FLORA. 47 
FABLE XIII. 
The Iris. 
There was a showy Iris flower, 
That grew beside the brook; 
And pleasant scents and brilliant hues, 
From every breeze it took. 
It stood upon the grassy brink, 
And gazed with glowing pride 
Upon its graceful form and dress 
Reflected in the tide. 
‘ I am the fairest of the flowers,’ 
The conscious beauty said; 
* How many rich and varied charms 
Are showered upon my head. 
‘ My helmet is of royal blue, 
My plume of downy gold; 
And I am clad in Lincoln green, 
Like Scottish knights of old. 
‘ A brace of lances at my side, 
In martial pomp I bear; 
No warrior ever looked so brave, 
No maiden e’er so fair.’ 
